JACK LONDON HISTORIC STATE PARK, Glen Ellen, CA

52 Places To Go: Week 23

The Cottage, Jack and Charmian London's home at their ranch in Glen Ellen, CA

Jack London (1876-1916), renowned author of Call of the Wild, White Fang, Sea Wolf and dozens of other novels, short stories, articles and poetry, is one of America’s most famous and prolific writers, as well as an adventurer, activist, and international celebrity. From 1905 to 1916, he and his wife, Charmian, lived on a property they called Beauty Ranch in Glen Ellen, California, about an hour and half north of San Francisco in the Sonoma Valley. This is where he wrote, operated a small farm demonstrating sustainable farming practices, and where Jack and Charmian built their dream house. Tragically, the house burned down shortly before they were to move in. After Jack's death in 1916, Charmian built another house, now restored as a museum at Jack London Historic State Park.

"Jack London Historical State Park. This is the “House of Happy Walls” built in 1919 by Charmian K. London in memory of her husband, Jack London, renowned author. Here are housed many of his works and the collection gathered in their travels throughout the world. Charmian’s house, the ruins of Jack’s “Wolf House,” and his grave were presented in 1960 to the state of California by his nephew, Irving Shepard."

In mid-May, when I was in Oakland, Art and I and our daughter spent a day at Jack London State Park, enjoying the fresh spring air and reacquainting ourselves with Jack London's literary legacy. The park had only recently opened after being closed due to Covid. It was a weekday, and when we arrived the parking lot was nearly empty. 

A shaded walkway leads to the Visitor Center

From the parking lot we did a short walk to the museum/visitor center, finding it filled with photos, video displays, books, mementos of Jack and Charmian’s extensive travels, and a peek into Charmian’s personal life--her dozens of shoes, piano, the decor of her kitchen and bathrooms. A friendly docent answered questions and managed the gift shop.

"As a child, Jack was a bright and voracious reader but his early years were spent in work. With what he called “dig,” Jack entered a short story contest sponsored by the local newspaper and won it. He enrolled in school and contributed several short stories to the school’s literary magazine. Later he withstood the pain of hundreds of rejection letters before winning worldwide fame."

Jack London's typewriter. "Jack’s daring explorations provided the fodder for his writing and the fuel for his spirit."

 

Jack London died in 1916 at the age of 40. His grave site, about a fifteen minute walk from the Visitor Center, is on a wooded hillside. A short distance away are the remains of Wolf House.

While I had long known about Jack London and his books, until this visit to his home I had been unaware of the role of his wife Charmian, who, I discovered, was just as bold and adventurous as he was. She edited Jack's work and was an author in her own right. She outlived Jack by nearly forty years, and died in 1955.

"Charmian K. London defied every expectation of the Victorian female. Obedient and chaste? Never. She was bold and free. Soul of a rebel. Kicking aside the convention that women must ride side saddle, Charmian chose to gallup astride. Every bit Jack’s equal in terms of adventure and intellect, she redefined a woman’s place."

Wolf House.

After viewing the exhibits at the museum we followed the path through the woods to the grave sites of Jack and Charmian, and from there to the ruins of their grand house. 

A swimming pool was to be the center of the house.

Built of stone, the remaining walls and chimneys of Wolf House look more like a medieval castle than a private home. Surrounded by towering redwoods, the house would have been an ideal retreat from city life. We climbed onto a platform that gave a view through the open doors and windows and a diagram of the layout, which included a swimming pool overlooked by a balcony.

Remains of farm buildings of Beauty Ranch.
Beyond the fence vineyards climb the Sonoma hills.

After our walk to the grave site and house, we returned to the parking lot and drove into Glen Ellen (a few minutes away) for a delicious lunch of sandwiches and pastries on the patio of Les Pascales, a French boulangerie. When we returned to the state park, we parked on the other side of the entrance for a tour of the Cottage  and of the remains of the farm buildings. During the years before Jack's death, he and Charmian lived in the cottage when they weren't traveling. Because of Covid, only one family group was allowed inside the Cottage buildings at a time for tours led by extremely knowledgeable volunteer docents. The rooms are preserved with furniture and decorations as they were when the Londons lived there.

The bed in the corner of the Cottage screen porch is where Jack London died.

View from the screen porch to the front garden and fish pond.

AN EXCHANGE TEACHER IN WALES, 1953-54: From the Memoir of Carolyn T. Arnold, at The Intrepid Tourist

Wales. Welcome to Mold.

Perhaps the original intrepid tourist was Carolyn Arnold, my husband’s aunt.  A single school teacher in Des Moines, she began traveling abroad when she was in her forties, beginning with a bicycling trip through Ireland in 1950.  She went on from there to spend a year as a Fulbright Exchange Teacher in Wales (1953-54), to more trips to Europe and beyond, and eventually became a tour leader, taking all her nieces and nephews (including my husband Art) on her travels.  When she retired from teaching, she wrote of her experiences in a memoir called Up and Down and Around the World with Carrie.  Today, as I read of her travels, I marvel at her spirit of adventure at a time when women did not have the independence they do today.
In TIT post 10/7/2013 Aunt Carolyn described her arrival in Wales, in the small town of Mold where she would be teaching in the grammar school for a year. The piece below describes her living situation during her year of teaching there.

On the second Saturday morning after my arrival in Wales, I went to Mold to find a place to live. I wanted to be part of the community where I would be teaching.  On the street I met Mr. Ledbetter, head of the English Department. He said, “Oh, I know just the place for you. Miss Wotton often takes people in.” Just then, Miss Wotton came along and stopped to chat. Yes, she would take me. Her elderly father would be glad of the company. Miss Wotton and her father lived in the south half of a brick duplex, or as they say, “semi-detached.” The house, as others, did not have a number and had been given a name when it was built. Our house name was “Y Llwyn.”

Miss Wooten’s  father, whom I learned to call Gran, was a tall erect man, very active for his 90 years. He even mowed the lawn. Later, I found that every evening about eight o’clock, he would take his hat and cane and walk along to his favorite pub, have a glass of Guinness, a game of darts, perhaps, and be home within the hour.

I found renting a room included a “sitting room” and high tea soon after I returned from school. It usually consisted of something hot, perhaps a lamb chop, plus sandwiches, dessert, and hot tea–all for $35 a month. I loved it there except for one thing. There was no heat in the bedroom or bathroom. As winter came on, I was very uncomfortable in the bedroom, and as for the bathroom, imagine that without heat! I knew electricity was expensive, and I was not paying much. I asked Miss Wooten–I soon learned to call her Muriel–why there was no heat in the fireplace in the bedroom. She said that the fireplace had not been used since before the War, and she was afraid a fire would light the soot and other material in the chimney. They burned coal in the fireplace downstairs, in my sitting room, and in the kitchen. Her brother, John, who lived in Liverpool, arranged for an electric fire (heater) as they were very scarce at the time. I could use that for a half-hour before bedtime and a half-hour in the morning for an extra pound a month, about $2.80.

Muriel is a sociable person and I owe much to her in getting acquainted with people in town. The Welsh are still very clannish and do not appear to be friendly to strangers, but once one is accepted, there are no more friendly and helpful people than the Welsh. By the end of the year I had drunk gallons of tea at the homes of friends and of my pupils.

Landscape near Mold

Through Muriel I met many more people than I would have met otherwise. Her friends Griff and Chrissy Williams lived near a small village called Gwnymyedd about two miles up the hill from Mold on a farm called “Tros-y-Wern.” Their home is a very old stone building, rectangular in shape with a chimney at each end, which is characteristic of many old farmhouses. The ceiling beams were refinished and glowed with polish. The windows are 18 inches deep, saying something of the thickness of the walls and age of the building. The kitchen has a large fireplace and is large enough for a dining room too. In the scullery is a stove, but both the kitchen fireplace and scullery stove are used for cooking. The floor is tiled, making it easy to clean, for the farm workers ate in the kitchen. There is a fireplace in every room in the house, including the sitting room, the parlor, and the upstairs. Chrissy and Griff became my friends too.

I learned the size of the average farm in Wales is 80 acres, much of it usually too hilly or rough to be arable, so sheep raising is a major part of farming. The Williams had lived at Tros-y-Wern for many years so I was surprised when Muriel told me they did not own the land. It was part of an estate of some lord and could not be sold. Shortly after I left Wales, I learned the lord had died, and Griff bought the land. He divided it into plots and built bungalows. They sold the lovely Tros-y-Wern and moved into one of the new bungalows.

All text and photos, copyright Caroline Arnold.  www.theintrepidtourist.blogspot.com